


Hunting & Gathering

by dr_zook



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Frankfurt/Main, M/M, Rosenkreuz, Schwarz - Freeform, Weiß Kreuz: Schwarz, assingment, pre-Schwarz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of pre-Schwarz. Crawford and Schuldig have an assignment to fulfill; and then they have some recreational time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting & Gathering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indelicateink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelicateink/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present! The prompt was: _wee something of young Crawford and Schuldig on leave from Rosenkreuz--something to do with their last night of freedom before they have to go back to Rosenkreuz for awhile._
> 
> Title is borrowed from [mighty SUNN O)))](http://sunn.bandcamp.com/track/hunting-gathering-cydonia). The assingnment is supposed to take place in Frankfurt am Main, Germany. And yes, there you can do all the things mentioned. :D

There was a time when a Rosenkreuz order read: You got three days. Get the job done. Because three days were the average time they calculated for a team once they were qualified to a certain degree.

On average you needed three days, no matter if you were assigned to bring down a scientist in their secret lab near one of the Amazon headwater streams, or bribe them (takes usually longer), or to silently execute the psychopath with whom you shared kitchen and bathroom during the training.

Three days, that's the directive for beginners.

So, when Schuldig and Crawford got their seventh assignment together they listened to the big man behind the big desk, nodded in duty bound, went out of the big office, and let the big door slide shut with a soft click. They only needed a look into each other's faces (without any freak powers included) and just knew it.

"No way," Schuldig said. "Where's the catch?"

"It's only a matter of half a day. Excluding travelling," Crawford agreed. He meticulously cleaned his glasses with a special cloth woven by ancient armless and mute nuns in Laos, the yarn made from their facial hair or something.

"He expressly declared, 'I await your report on my desk in 72 hours.' I heard him right, no?"

Crawford nodded.

.:.

They took their sweet time, taking as long as possible without boring themselves to death. And thus, after 45 hours Crawford was typing the report and Schuldig sat beside him on the carpet and cleaned his gun. Or maybe he did lay there, plugs in his ears and listened to his own blood thundering through the vessel of his body.

Eventually Crawford tapped his shins (so Schuldig must have laid on the sofa, not sitting cross-legged in front of it, component parts of his weapon fanned out before him) and asked what to do next.

"Well, there are hares running around in the city. Or rather: bunnies."

"What?" Crawford looked positively aghast.

"An old fortification zig-zags through the city. In fact it's slighted, the foundation walls are now a recreation area and brimming with bunnies. We should be able to spot some. I mean, it's late spring already." Schuldig's mouth made a strange motion, something between a pout and the equivalent of thinky thoughts.

"You're kidding me."

Schuldig went on unfazed by the other's irritation: "The park thing goes actually from river bank to river bank, and there's a café directly at the shore. And you can lie there in canvas chairs and watch the freighters crawling by."

Crawford's hand darted to Schuldig's temple and brow, checking for temperature. "You're serious."

"You bet."

Crawford looked at him, into his steel green eyes and said with an unmistakable amount of determination: "Alright. But around nine we'll get up and on the other side. The bar there is said to be like a speakeasy or something: You ring a nondescript bell, the waiter opens the door and if he doesn't like your haircut or shoes or-"

"Shoulder pads?" Schuldig couldn't help himself.

"Something like that, yes, then he'll shut the thing close in front of your nose."

Schuldig smiled. "They serve the best cocktails." He rose and flicked at his suspenders. Padded with socks only over the lush carpet, rummaged for the camera in his valise. He never heard Crawford creeping up to him and would never have expected his almost weightless hand on the small of his back. Schuldig knew that meant concession.

"Cocktails are on me. You are responsible for hares and cake."

Schuldig threw at him his most telling gaze, the one cast over his shoulder, then straightened again, his fingers clutching the found camera. Stood too close to Crawford, actually, but not caring and he leant forward, murmuring, "Bunnies. They are feral bunnies."

Crawford swallowed once, twice. "That sounds... weird."

"Wait until you see it." Schuldig grinned across Crawford's shoulder.

.:.

And thus they went and did as planned, and the report was on the big desk in time.

And if one asked Schuldig about those hours that late spring in Germany, he'd 'tsk' and wave you off. But if one cared enough to take a closer look, they'd see the two, three dimples gracing the corners of his mouth and even laugh lines of genuine amusement emerging around his eyes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Accomplices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/914754) by [dr_zook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook)




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